


Dean Thomas and the School of Wizardry

by orphan_account



Series: The Dean Thomas Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, POV Dean Thomas, Retelling, more ships and characters to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-02 02:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10935525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean Thomas has never flown on a broom stick. He has never cast a spell, seen a picture move, or brewed a potion. But all that is about to change when a mysterious letter arrives by owl messenger: a letter with an invitation to a wonderful place he never dreamed existed.AKA a retelling of the Harry Potter series from Dean's perspective, part one.





	1. The Terrible News

**Author's Note:**

> Strap in because it's going to be a long ride.  
> Basically Dean is my favorite under-appreciated HP character and I wanted to give him the love he deserves in the form of a retelling of the entire series.  
> As always, critiques/comments are always appreciated (I'm so lonely please talk to me)

It was a quiet night in Stratford. A thick layer of clouds had muffled the light of the moon, casting darkness onto the streets below. A small stray dog wandered around St. John’s church, snuffling through the autumn leaves in pursuit of food. The dog paused in his search, lifting his head and growling at an empty space in front of him. With a sudden echoing bang, the space in question was filled with the rather disheveled figure of young man. The dog yelped before skidding off into an alley and the man brushed off his wrinkled trench coat.

After ensuring that his clothes were in order, he set off down the street. His shadow stretched out onto the pavement as he slipped in and out of the light of the streetlamps. He walked for a few blocks, muttering the street numbers under his breath.

“Two forty-eight, two fifty, ah! Two fifty-two.” He had paused in front of a small brick flat with white shutters. The man pulled out a crumpled note from a pocket in his coat and gave it a glance before heading into the building.

The main hallway of the flat was rather dingy. The single light at the top of the stairs flickered a sickly green. The man ignored a small beetle that had been flipped on its back and headed up to the first landing. He checked his note once more before rapping sharply on the door to 1A.

There was the sound of an infant giving a startled whine, and then some shuffling behind the door. A woman’s voice could be heard shushing the child. The door opened to reveal a young woman clutching a baby to her chest. She bounced the child gently as she regarded the man in front of her wearily.

The woman was quite lovely, with warm brown eyes and smooth, dark skin. She looked worn out, the bags under her eyes revealing a tiredness beyond that of a new parent. But something about her, perhaps her posture or the graceful curve of her neck, made her seem like a person who should not be trifled with.

“May I help you?” she asked flatly. The man cleared his throat.

“Are you Mrs. Abigail Thomas?”

“I am.” She paused, narrowing her eyes at the young man. “And you are…?”

“Ah, yes. I am John Dawlish. I worked with your husband.”

Abigail gave a dissatisfied hum.

“If you’re looking for him here you’re out of luck. I haven’t seen him since two months ago.”

“Actually, Mrs. Thomas, I came to talk to you. I’m afraid I have some rather terrible news.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. Although Abigail spoke with conviction, beneath her words was a tremble in her voice.

“I- yes.” Dawlish steeled himself for her reaction. This was the first time he had been sent on such ministry business and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Abigail seemed to have gone mute. She looked down at her son who she cradled in her arms. He shared the same warm skin and brown eyes. He looked unblinkingly at his mother, as though he understood the situation completely.

She turned back to Dawlish and nodded, pursing her lips together.

“Is that all, then?”

Dawlish frowned slightly. He had been expecting more of a reaction, perhaps a fit of tears or a fainting spell. Instead, he found himself echoing her nod.

“That’s all.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dawlish.” She closed the door rather suddenly in his face. Dawlish blinked, wondering if that had gone terribly or as well as he could have hoped. After a moment, he turned on his heel and left the flat’s dingy hallway.

Inside, Abigail stood frozen at the door. Her son made a tiny gurgling noise, reaching for a loose braid of his mother’s hair. She squeezed her eyes shut before looking down at him again.

“I suppose it’s just us now, Dean.”


	2. The Owl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean receives a mysterious letter on his eleventh birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, comments are appreciated in any form! This chapter was a little hard to decide on because the only example I have of a muggle-raised kid getting their letter involved a giant breaking down the door to a shack in the middle of the ocean, and somehow I suspect Harry was the only kid to get such an introduction to the wizarding world.

It had been almost eleven years since the night that Dean had lost his father, and many things had changed. For one, the Thomases no longer lived in the tiny flat by St. John’s Church. They had moved three blocks down to a terraced house with green shutters. For another, the Thomases were no longer the Thomases. Shortly after Dean’s second birthday, Abigail Thomas had bumped into a rather charming accountant named Basil Lumley. Within the year, they were engaged to be married.

The Thomas-Lumley household only grew from there. By the time Dean was eight, he had three younger sisters. They all shared his mother’s warm brown eyes, but Dean was the only one who shared her smile. On this particular day, he had quite the chance to show it off.

“Happy Birthday!” His mother beamed as she elbowed the kitchen door open, carrying a rather lopsided cake in her arms. Dean grinned, folding his hands between his legs to keep from fidgeting with excitement.

“Thanks, mum.” He leaned into her side in a half-hug as she set down the cake. Abigail planted a kiss on his forehead, ruffling his hair as she drew back.

“Go on then,” Hannah whined from her seat beside Dean. “Make a wish already. I want cake!”

Dean feigned deep thought.

“I dunno, I think I need some time to think one up.”

“Mum!” Hannah cried. “He’s doing that on purpose!”

Basil shushed her with a hand on her shoulder and Dean huffed out all the candles in one breath. The little family erupted into applause as Basil began cutting the cake.

“What did you wish for, Dean?” Nora whispered. He grinned, giving her pigtail a playful tug.

“I can’t tell you that, silly. Then it won’t come tr-”

_ THUD _

The whole family jumped as a large object collided with the dining room window. Basil muttered something about the neighbors’ kids and their bloody football, throwing open the window to undoubtedly give them a piece of his mind. Instead, an enormous bird soared through in a blur of tawny brown. All three girls shrieked at once as the creature settled calmly on the back of Dean’s chair.

“Mum! Mum! It’s going to kill him!” Hannah hollered, waving an arm bravely at the owl. Dean, for whatever reason, didn’t find himself to be quite as petrified as he expected.

“Look,” he whispered. “It’s got a note.”

“Dean, don’t-” Abigail cut herself off as she noticed the fat, yellowed envelope tied to the bird’s talon. As soon as Dean slipped it off, the owl pushed off, gliding back out the window. This seemed to shake Basil out of his stunned silence, and he slammed the sash back down with a bang.

Dean’s family was in complete disarray. Abigail hugged Emma and Nora to her chest, hushing them as Hannah inspected the cake for owl droppings. They all began talking at once, asking the same questions over and over. What was that about? Had somebody sent the owl? Couldn’t have been a relative, could it?

The confusion of his family, however, was lost on Dean. All he could do was stare at the envelope in his hands, studying the front which was neatly addressed in green ink.

 

Mr. D. Thomas

Second Bedroom to the Right

572 Spruce Street

Stratford

 

Before either of his parents remembered the mysterious envelope, Dean had pried it free of its wax seal and emptied the contents onto the table.

The first page he grabbed seemed to be a list of supplies for a halloween party. Dean gave it a curious glance before tossing it aside. The next one was rather short, and printed in the same emerald green ink.

 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

 

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

 

Dear Mr. Thomas,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva Mcgonagall

Deputy Headmistress

 

Dean frowned at the letter. This must be some sort of joke. Maybe a relative had a newfound sense of humor. Not a very good one, mind you. But still, something in the back of his head told Dean to take the letter seriously.

“What’s that, Dean?” Basil seemed to have calmed down enough to notice Dean’s letter. At his words, the rest of the family turned curiously to inspect the pages. It took Abigail only a moment of scanning the pages before she turned around and cuffed Basil sharply on the back of the head.

“I thought you were getting him West Ham tickets!” she cried. Dean perked up with interest.

“I did! This isn’t my doing. Since when have I owned a trained owl?”

“Well I certainly didn’t do it.” Abigail crossed her arms, then changed her mind and grabbed the letter. Dean protested before realizing it would make him look like a loon.

“Dean,” Abigail looked concerned. “You don’t believe this, do you?”

Dean shook his head. The room fell silent as each family member thought on the letter clutched in Abigail’s hands. 

“Erm, what about that cake?” Hannah interrupted. Basil laughed and returned to passing out the slices as if nothing had happened. Abigail frowned once more and tucked the letter into her pocket.


	3. The Reply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sends his letter off to Hogwarts

Dean lay awake, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His birthday had been lovely. Basil had gotten him West ham tickets, and his mum had given him the new Metroid game he’d been asking about. Hannah, Nora, and Emma had pooled their allowances together and gotten him A West Ham poster to put up in his room. But despite the the day’s festivities, Dean could think of nothing else but the letter currently lying on the kitchen counter.

He had never had much interest in magic and fairytales. Of all the games he would play as a child, none of them involved witches and wizards in the slightest. Even so, the letter had planted a thought in his mind that he couldn’t shake.

He swung his legs carefully off the side of the bed, stepping gingerly onto the rug to avoid the creaks of the old floorboards. Dean padded cautiously across his room, opening the door slowly to keep the hinges from squeaking.

He had just begun to creep past the door of his parent’s room when a voice made him freeze in his tracks.

“-sounds ridiculous, I know, but you remember his third birthday, don’t you?” It was his mother’s voice.

“Abbi,” Basil began to speak. “I think you ought to get some sleep.”

“No, Basil, listen. What about that drawing he did when he was five?” The voices went silent and Dean know they had both turned to look at the family portrait that hung near their bed. The portrait covered a lovely little mural Dean had decided to scribble onto the wall. As hard as they tried, neither Basil or his mum could get the red crayon off the walls. They even tried painting over it a couple times, only for it to reappear the next morning. Basil began to say something about the wax not mixing with the paint, but Abigail cut him off again. “And don’t forget Mr. Nibbles.” Dean grimaced at that. Nora had been elated when her parents had given in to her constant requests for a pet, but none of them had expected the unassuming little gerbil to be such an escape artist. Dean had woken to something crawling across his arm one night, and his shouts brought his family in just in time to see the poor thing disappear in what looked like a cloud of purple smoke. Their gran had called a day later asking how Mr. Nibbles had made it all the way out to her house in the countryside.

“Alright then,” Basil began. “Let’s say Dean  _ is _ a wizard. We can’t exactly catch an owl and send a reply, and I can guarantee you there’s no shop in london that sells wands and cauldrons. This is probably all just a prank from one of Dean’s school friends.” Abigail made a hesitant noise of agreement.

Dean realized he had been holding his breath, and let out a quiet sigh. No longer quite as interested in seeing the letter again, he headed back to his room.

 

***

 

The next morning dawned chilly and overcast. Hannah had somehow convinced her parents to let her eat leftover cake for breakfast while Dean picked at his sausages.

_ THUD _

Everyone froze for a moment before Abigail and Basil, exchanging a wary look, headed over to the window.

I slightly smaller, more ruffled owl hopped onto the windowsill the moment Basil opened it. Dean stood excitedly, pushing past his parents to inspect the new visitor. The owl regarded him for a moment before tilting its head expectantly and offering up one of its talons.

“Mum! Mum!” Dean said excitedly. “It wants our reply! It’s here for our letter!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Basil huffed as he attempted to shoo the bird away. The owl remained resolutely on the windowsill, letting out an impatient sort of screech.

“Why? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Basil shook his head as he gave the owl a solid push and slammed the sash back down. He turned to Abigail for support, but she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

“The worst that could happen is that you go and get your hopes up while the whole time you’re just being messed with by your Uncle Ned.”

“Uncle Ned wouldn’t do this,” Dean said crossly, but Basil didn’t seem to hear. He was having a staredown with the owl that had perched itself on the planter box.

 

***

 

Dean crumpled up his paper and tossed it aside to lie in the growing pile on his floor. He had locked himself in his room shortly after supper to start on his reply. At first he had scribbled out his message in a hurry in case the owl decided to take off, but after an hour or so it became apparent that the bird was there to stay.

He pulled up a new piece of paper and started again.

 

Dear Ms. McGonagall

I would really like to go to your Hogwarts school this fall, only my mum and dad think all this is just some nutter having a go at me. If you could send something magic with your next letter I think that would convince them.

Thanks loads,

Dean

 

He added a small drawing of himself wearing a starry wizard hat in the corner and drew fireworks around the borders for a little flair. He didn’t have any fancy thick paper to write on, so he thought that might make up for it. Dean sat back and stretched, noticing with surprise that it was dark outside his window. His parents must have figured he fell asleep a while ago, or else they would’ve come in to say goodnight.

He folded his letter carefully as he padded over to the door, pressing his ear against the wood. The house was silent. Dean crept out into the hallway and down to the dining room, his breath catching at each slight creaking of the floorboards. After what seemed like ages of cautious tiptoeing, he stepped into the dining room with a sigh of relief. The owl was still sitting stubbornly outside the window, occasionally giving the glass a sharp rap with its beak. Dean walked over to the window and had just gotten the latch open when his mother’s voice came out of the shadows.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Abigail’s voice was much less stern than Dean thought it would be. He turned quickly, holding his letter behind his back.

“I thought I might shoo the owl off,” he lied. “It’s night now so I figure it’s got to go hunting.” His mum gave an unconvinced hum, stepping up to him and reaching behind his back to pluck the letter from his hands. She took a moment to read before shaking her head in disappointment.

“Dean, you’ve forgotten an envelope.”

He gaped at her.

“I-I thought they were all in Basil’s desk. I didn’t want to wake you.” Abigail smiled and reached into the pocket of her dressing gown, producing an envelope which shone white in the moonlight. Dean watched, stunned, as she folded his letter gingerly and slipped it inside. The envelope was already addressed (by her, Dean realised) to Hogwarts.

They slid the window open together and Abigail held the letter out to the owl. The tawny bird made an impatient screech before grasping the envelope and lifting itself up into the air. They watched as the owl faded into a speck in the distance.

“Mum?”

“Hmm?”

“Where am I supposed to get a wand?”


	4. Chocolate Frogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is a pretty short chapter. I promise the next one will be more exciting <3

Basil seemed quite relieved to find the owl gone the next morning. Dean and his mum shared a look as he carried on about how he had scared the bird off. For a few days, everything seemed to return to normal. Normal, except for the fact that Dean could hardly focus on anything but when he would see that bloody owl again. Every bird flying overhead made Dean stop and stare until he saw that it was a buzzard or a pigeon. Screeching sounds like tires squealing made him jump. Basil assumed his nerves were just frazzled after two owl encounters and thankfully said nothing.

It wasn’t until three days later that Dean got his reply.

They had taken a family outing to the park and returned to find a snowy owl perched on the planter box of Dean’s bedroom window.

Dean raced through the door as soon as Basil unlocked it and took the steps two at a time. He leapt onto his bed and threw open the window, startling the owl enough for it to let out an indignant hoot. Dean grabbed the fat package clutched in its talon, wondering for a moment how the bird had been able to fly with her new cargo.

He was about to shake the box to listen to the contents when he remembered he had requested something magical. Suddenly the package seemed liable to explode.

Dean carried it gingerly into the dining room, his sisters immediately gathering around him. Taking a deep breath, he untied the twine and unwrapped the package. The box opened to reveal another letter and three oddly shaped purple boxes. Dean went for the letter first, just in case it had instructions on handling the boxes.

 

Dear Mr. Thomas,

 

Unfortunately, I am unable to send much else for danger of violating the Statute of Secrecy. I hope that these will do. Please take care to keep them from escaping.

 

P.S. Your school supplies can be bought in Diagon Alley off of Charing Cross Road.

 

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

 

Dean cast the letter aside, his sisters immediately fighting to read it. He regarded the three purple boxes with caution. The letter had made it sound as though there were some kind of creature inside, but they remained perfectly still.

“What’s a chocolate frog?” Nora asked, leaning over to read the label on the boxes.

“I dunno,” Dean said in nearly a whisper. “I think they’re magic.”

Basil frowned, picking up one of the boxes.

“Chocolate? Does she expect us to eat them?”

“Maybe it’ll turn us into frogs,” Hannah suggested excitedly. Emma had gotten her hands on one of the boxes and was already opening it before Basil could forbid it. All three of the girls screamed as a brown frog hopped out and onto the kitchen table.

“Get it, mum!” Nora shouted, but Dean was already on it, cupping his hands over the frog and lifting it off the table.

“Let me see!” Hannah cried, peering at Dean’s hands. He opened them slightly, just enough to let her look, but realised quickly that the frog had gone still. In fact, it seemed to have frozen in place. He opened his hands all the way, setting the frog down as he realised it was melting as he held it.

“It’s made of chocolate,” he said in awe. Basil reached for the frog.

“Rubbish,” he said. “It can’t be…”

But there was no denying it. The frog looked, and smelled like a piece of chocolate. With a few added limbs, that is.

Basil looked a bit pale.


	5. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been leaving comments and kudos! they've really made my day <3

After much debating, Hannah had taken the challenge of eating the frog (much to Basil’s horror) and she confirmed it to be quite delicious. Abigail had given Basil a look that she usually reserved for when she was proven right in an argument over something trivial, then set off to write a formal acceptance of Dean’s invitation. They sent it off with the snowy owl that evening, leaving Dean to ponder exactly how many owls Ms. McGonagall had, and his parents to ponder what sort of shop on Charing Cross Road sold  _ The Standard Book of Spells. _

They travelled to Charing Cross Road that Sunday. Basil had resigned himself to the fact that his stepson was going to be attending a school for wizards, but refused to tag along on the excursion, instead insisting on staying at home with the girls.

Abigail insisted that she had never heard of a Diagon Alley, and she was nearly certain there wasn’t one off Charing Cross Road. Of course, it was most likely a well hidden street if it was safe enough for wizards to visit without revealing themselves to the world.

They had made it halfway down the block when Dean grabbed his mum’s arm, pointing excitedly at a grubby-looking pub between a bookstore and a record shop.

“Look, mum. The sign says ‘The Leaky Cauldron.’ You reckon they sell wands in there?”

She frowned up at the sign. She had never heard of the Leaky Cauldron, and certainly never noticed it before. But Dean didn’t seem to feel quite as hesitant about entering the pud, seeing as he was already dragging her through the door.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust once inside. The pub was quite shabby and the light that filtered through the grubby windows was dim. Once Dean got a proper look around, however, he was sure he was in the right place.

The Leaky Cauldron only had a few patrons. Beside the man leaning against the bar and chatting up a woman next to him, there were three other people huddled at a table in the corner. Two of them were wearing emerald green cloaks, and the third had a pointed purple hat on her head. They looked like they had walked straight out of one of Emma’s fairy tale books.

The bartender gave them a toothless grin, taking in their awed faces and decidedly non-magical clothing.

“You’ll be looking for Diagon Alley I suppose?”

Dean nodded, tugging his mum over to the bar.

“Do you know how to get there?”

“Certainly. Follow me.” The bartender stepped out from behind the bar and lead them across the room and out the back door. Behind the pub was a dingy little courtyard. The bartender reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick - a  _ wand, _ Dean realized - giving one of the bricks above the trashcan a tap. Dean stumbled back as the brick began to shake, a hole growing out of the middle and expanding before his eyes into a sizeable archway. His mum gripped his arm tightly, her eyes looking a bit glazed. The bartender gave them another toothless smile and returned to his pub.

Together, Dean and his mum took a step through the archway. Abigail whipped around at the sound of the archway disappearing behind them, but Dean hardly heard a thing.

In front of him lay a winding cobblestone street, lined with shops that looked older than anything Dean had ever seen. The buildings were almost all squished or tilted in some way or another, all fitting together like a puzzle. A small woman in a tall, pointed hat pushed past them, mumbling something about broom repair.

Diagon Alley was bustling with people, and Dean and his mum found themselves jostled around by the crowds. Abigail suddenly seemed to have regained her senses, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him over to a storefront featuring a glistening display of scales and cauldrons.

“Alright then, what’s first?” she asked. Dean pulled out the list he had gotten with his first letter.

“Erm… it says I’ll need robes.”

“Right.” She nodded, squared her shoulders, and, brandishing her son as though he were a shield, pushed her way through the crowd. Dean batted away the mob of cloaks and robes, stumbling occasionally on a pointy-toed shoe.

Madam Malkin’s Robes for all Occasions seemed the most likely place to purchase his school robes. A bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, blinking slowly as their eyes adjusted to the light.

The shop wasn’t as busy as Dean had expected. A witch was admiring an embroidered velvet cloak in the corner and a woman sat behind the counter scribbling something with a quill.

“Excuse me,” Dean said softly as he approached the counter. “Is this where I would buy school robes?”

The woman looked up and smiled warmly.

“You’d be another muggleborn, then?”

“A what?”

“Muggle.” She peered over the rim of her small round spectacles. “Non-magic folk.”

“Ah, er…” Dean turned questioningly back to his mum who gave him a shrug. “I suppose.”

“Have you exchanged your money yet?”

“What?”

The woman was very tolerant of their cluelessness.

“Well you can’t be paying for your robes in pounds.” She turned to Abigail. “Gringotts is the bank at the end of the street. I’ll get him started while you sort that out.”

Abigail hesitated as the woman, Madam Malkin, he realised, ushered Dean to the back of the shop.

“You’ll be alright?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’ll be fine, mum. Really.”

Abigail frowned, but she left the shop anyways, the door jingling again with her exit.

“Well then, let’s get you measured, shall we?” Madam Malkin drew a wand from inside her sleeve and twirled it deftly through the air. Measuring tapes lept from the counter, unfurling themselves midair and swarming around Dean. The moved about as if they were held by an invisible tailor, measuring his arms and legs of their own accord.

Madam Malkin proved to be very chatty. By the time Dean’s robes were tailored and pressed he had learned what other shops he’d need to find for the rest of his supplies. Abigail returned halfway through the fitting looking a bit rattled, but clutching a pouch full of gold and silver coins.

Diagon Alley proved easier to navigate with Madam Malkin’s advice. They found their way to Flourish and Blotts where Dean’s mum let him buy a set of self-inking drawing quills, then across to Wiseacre’s and back again to Pottage’s Cauldron Shop. By the time they had finished in there the midday rush had cleared a bit, and all that was left on Dean’s list was a wand.

Ollivander’s wasn’t nearly as showy as the rest of Diagon Alley had been. The window had no displays but for a single wand on a dusty purple cushion. Inside, the shop was just as understated. The walls were completely lined with long, thin boxes, a ladder stretching across the shelves like at a library. The soft light from the window illuminated swirls of dust in the air, and Dean decided that this shop was the most magical he had set foot in yet.

Abigail sat tentatively on the lone chair by the door, looking a bit uneasy. Dean swallowed thickly, crossing the tiny width of the shop to the dusty counter. His hand hovered hesitantly over the tarnished bell that sat there, but, before he could ring it, a soft voice made them both jump.

“Good afternoon.”

An old man had appeared from the back of the shop, a sizeable pile of boxes in his arms.

“Hello.” Dean’s voice had all but disappeared. He frowned at himself, clearing his throat. “I’m here for a wand?” He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question, but the man’s silvery eyes were boring into him and making him feel a bit weak in the knees.

Mr. Ollivander nodded, turning to place his boxes on the shelves before acknowledging Dean again.

“Which is your wand arm?”

“Er… right.”

Mr. Ollivander motioned for him to hold out his hand, summoning tape measures like Madam Malkin had. As they flitted around Dean, Mr. Ollivander took his offered hand and examined it carefully.

“You like to draw?” he asked, running a long finger over the pencil smudges on the side of Dean’s hand. Dean nodded mutely. Mr. Ollivander hummed to himself, retreating into the gloom of the shop. When he returned again, he was holding one of his long boxes.

Dean watched in awe as he pulled from it a long wand with ridges all down the handle.

“Willow and unicorn hair, twelve and a quarter inches, whippy.” He offered it to Dean, who took it delicately. “Give it a wave.”

Dean hesitated before flicking his wrist lightly as he had seen Madam Malkin do in her shop. The lamp above Mr. Ollivander’s desk flickered slightly.

“Hmm, perhaps not.” He retreated once more to the back of the shop, emerging with another box covered in a thick layer of dust. He handed Dean the next wand, short and curled at the end. “Silver lime and dragon heartstring. Ten inches, a bit of give to it.”

Dean waved it again, jumping as several boxes slid off the shelves with a chorus of thuds. Mr. Ollivander shook his head. He stooped over to pick up one of the boxes that had slid particularly close, a strange smile playing across his lips.

“Pear and phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Bendy.” He offered the wand to Dean. As soon as his fingers touched it he felt something like electricity shoot through his body. Without thinking, he flicked his wrist in a spiral that was traced in the air with a blinding golden light. He heard his mum gasp and Mr. Ollivander clap his hands together with satisfaction.

 


	6. The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter was short, now long chapter is long. Thanks again to everyone who's been leaving feedback and kudos! It really means a lot :D

Dean returned home reluctantly, in part because the magic of Diagon Alley was hard to leave behind, and in part because he knew his sisters would be rummaging through his new things as soon as he stepped through the door. He had remembered at the very last minute that Madam Malkin had instructed him to buy a train ticket at the small stand at the end of Diagon Alley. “It’s always better to get it ahead of time your first year,” she had told him. He clutched his ticket tightly to his chest as his mum unlocked the front door, steeling himself for the barrage of questions he was about to face. He had barely crossed the threshold before Hannah, Nora, and Emma were all over him, tugging the shopping bags open and running off question after question.

“What are the scales for?”

“Can you show us your wand?”

“Did you buy a cat? The letter said you could bring a cat.”

“Did you buy a _magic_ cat?”

“Did you get us more chocolate frogs?”

“Were there flying broomsticks?”

“Were there top hats? Like the kind you pull a rabbit from?”

“Can you show us your spell books?”

Dean wriggled out from under Emma who had climbed his back like a tree in order to see into the bags. He tried to tuck his train ticket into his pocket but Nora spotted the flash of gold and snatched it from his hands.

“The Hogwarts Express?” She sounded a bit put out. “You get there by train?” Dean made a grab for the ticket but she held it out of his reach, an impressive feat considering she was about half his height.

“How else would you get there? It’s far away. I don’t reckon sitting on a broom handle the whole way would be very comfortable.”

“I dunno,” Nora pouted. “I thought maybe you’d ride a magic carpet or a unicorn.”

Dean snorted at that. “I’m a wizard, not a fairy.”

“Says you,” Hannah shot back. Dean gave her a shove and made another grab for the ticket. Nora jumped out of his reach, giggling.

“Platform nine and three quarters, it says. There is no platform nine and three quarters.”

“Of course not. It’s _hidden._ ”

“How do you hide a whole train platform?” Hannah asked skeptically.

“Magic, duh!” Emma piped up. Dean smiled, ruffling her hair.

“That’s right. Magic.” He swiped the ticket from Nora’s hand at last, shoving it into his pocket. Nora stuck her tongue out at him and he stuck his tongue out back.

 

***

 

The rest of the summer crept by at a snail’s pace. Dean spent the days flipping lazily through his schoolbooks and drawing pictures of wands and broomsticks in the margins. He hadn’t managed to do much with his wand, even with the aid of the spellbooks. He supposed that was what Hogwarts was there for anyways, to train him up into a real wizard. He started daydreaming about what the school might look like. Maybe it was a giant tower overlooking the edge of a cliff, or a palace at the top of a mountain. Drawings of fantastical buildings began filling the end pages of his textbooks, inked into the page with his new drawing quills.

August finally came to a close and Dean woke up on the morning of September first ready to go. He could hardly sit through breakfast, his knee bouncing under the table and making everyone’s orange juice ripple in their glasses. His sisters feigned annoyance, but it was easy to see the excitement gleaming in their eyes as well. He managed to get his family out the door an entire two hours before the train’s scheduled departure, declaring that the platform could take ages to find so they should really get a head start.

Dean was the first one out of the car when they reached King’s Cross Station. He started lugging his trunk out of the back before Basil had even put the car in park. He had decided against wearing his robes to the station, mostly because Hannah had complained about him looking like a loon and threatened violence if he ever wore them in public.

Even with Hannah’s precautions, the family of six received plenty of strange looks as they made their way through the station, mostly due to Dean’s cauldron being perched on top of his trunk, wobbling dangerously when he pushed the trolley too fast.

Dean didn’t know exactly what he thought would happen when they arrived at the space between platforms nine and ten, but he found himself feeling a bit disappointed. There was no secret doorway that only he could see, no hidden sign, and certainly no train hidden in a magical fog.

“Well?” Nora looked expectantly at Dean. “How do we find it?”

Dean frowned, trying to think back on whether he had been told anything about the platform, but coming up with nothing.

“I… er… it’s probably something to do with my wand.” He pulled his wand out from his pocket, suddenly remembering the old man at the Leaky Cauldron and his hidden brick. He made his way over to the barrier at platform ten, raising his wand to tap on one of the bricks. Just as he was bringing his hand down, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Dean whirled around, hiding his wand quickly behind his back as he came face to face with the ticket inspector.

“May I see your ticket?” The man looked a bit stern and Dean felt a flash of panic. What would he do if he saw the platform number? Would he make them leave? Would Dean miss the train? He found himself handing the ticket over to the inspector, steeling himself for the worst. The ticket inspector took the ticket.

“You’re early.” He pointed at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. “You’ll want to go through there.”

“Pardon?”

“Just through there.”

Dean peered around the inspector to see if he was missing something.

“Through where?”

The inspector seemed to be working quite hard on not rolling his eyes.

“Through the barrier,” he said impatiently. “Just work up a bit of speed and walk through it.”

“Ah,” Dean said to placate him. The barrier looked quite solid from where he was standing.

The ticket inspector turned on his heel and marched back to his booth. As he did, Dean caught a glimpse of something distinctly wand-like sticking out of his back pocket.

Dean returned to his family who were all looking at him expectantly.

“We’re supposed to walk through the barrier.” He informed them.

“Walk through…”

“Or run.” Dean shrugged. “He said to pick up some speed first.”

“Oh. Alright.” Abigail responded more quickly than Dean expected, scooping Emma up onto her hip and heading toward the barrier at a brisk walk. In a moment, she was gone.

“Er… right then.” Basil looked a bit shaken. “You’ve got the trolley?” Dean nodded and Basil took Nora and Hannah’s hands, walking toward the barrier with significantly less confidence than Abigail. Again, the three of them disappeared.

Dean took a steadying breath, pulling his trolley in front of him and aiming a straight path for the barrier. He walked at first, but as the bricks loomed in front of him he found himself breaking into a jog. He flinched, braced for impact, and…

Emerged into an entirely new platform.

The air at platform nine and three quarters was thick with steam from the brilliant scarlet train that sat in front of him. As Dean stood, gaping at the steam engine, He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his mum nearly beaming at him, Emma still balanced on her hip.

“We’re still nearly half an hour early,” Hannah complained. She was right, but they were still far from the only ones there. In fact, the platform was already rather crowded. Chatter filled the air along with the occasional hoot from an owl or hiss from a cat. Basil was enthralled by the people around them, staring openly at a woman with a deep green cloak and matching pointed hat. Abigail gave him a nudge, bringing him back to earth.

“Right.” He straightened up, taking hold of Dean’s trolley. “I’ll find where to load the trunks.” He wheeled the cart around in front of him and strode bravely into the thick of the crowd.

Abigail turned back to Dean, sliding Emma down onto the floor to free her arms for the tight hug she gave her son. Dean let her kiss him on the forehead before drawing back.

“Mum, I’ll be home for Christmas.” He rolled his eyes and then paused, wondering if wizards celebrated Christmas.

“Oh, I know.” Abigail smiled before stepping back a moment to regard her son with a more serious look. “You _will_ be home for Christmas. I don’t care how magical your school is, you’re coming home to visit or I’m renting out your room to uncle Ned.” Dean laughed, hugging his mum once more.

It turned out arriving early was for the best, as it took the next half hour for Dean to say a proper goodbye to his family and take all of his sisters’ requests for magical items to bring home when he visited. By the time Dean actually boarded the train, the platform was packed full of families and half the compartments in the train were already full.

He made his way through the main aisle, checking each open compartment for someone who looked about his age, or at least didn’t shake their head and mutter “first years” when he stumbled by. Finally, he found a compartment that was nearly empty, its single occupant leaning halfway out the window to wave at his family. he withdrew back into the compartment as the Hogwarts Express gave a slight lurch and began to chug away from the station. The boy was round-faced and sandy-haired, but his most distinguishing feature was his eyes. They were bright hazel, and glinted with a sort of mischief that Dean felt himself being drawn to.

“Seamus Finnigan,” he offered, sticking out his hand. That was possibly the most Irish name Dean had ever heard, and it matched perfectly with the boy’s thick accent.

“Dean Thomas,” he answered, taking Seamus’ hand. “Is this your first year too?”

“Sure is.” Seamus beamed, sticking out his chest. “Got me letter in June. Always knew I would, of course, but it was still nice to know I got some magic from me mam’s side.”

“So your dad is-”

“A muggle.” Seamus nodded. “I reckon he was holding out hope he wouldn’t end up outnumbered.”

“Everyone in my family’s a muggle,” Dean explained. “I’m outnumbered five to one.”

“Well that’s alright, though. Means you won’t miss doing spells when you come back for holidays.”

“Can’t we do magic at home?”

“Best not to. The Ministry’s got a law on that. Says magic can’t be done outside of school until you’re seventeen.” Dean’s hopes of dazzling his sisters with grand magic displays were dashed.

“Do all wizards go to school at Hogwarts?”

“All the good ones. I’ve got a cousin in Belgium that went to some poofy french school, but everyone knows there’s no school better than Hogwarts, and no better house than Gryffindor.”

“Gryffindor?”

Seamus seemed stunned by Dean’s ignorance.

“Blimey, muggles don’t know nothing, do they? Yeah, Gryffindor. There’s four houses in Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Me whole family’s been in Gryffindor. Well, Except for me great-aunt Aednat. She was in Ravenclaw.”

“Do they put you in houses because of your family?” Dean wondered glumly if the muggleborn house was anywhere near as fun as Gryffindor. Seamus snorted.

“No, you get sorted with some kind of test your first year. Me mam won’t tell me what it is. Says it’s best to see for yourself. Oh, look! Cauldron cakes!”

Dean found himself being dragged off the bench towards the aisle of the train, where a short old lady was pushing a cart full of what appeared to be sweets. Dean spotted the distinctive chocolate frog boxes and realised with a start how hungry he was.

Seamus bought a stack of cauldron cakes, unwrapping them eagerly as Dean weighed his options. In the end he bought one of everything, unable to resist the bright packaging and peculiar names. Seamus had already eaten half his cakes by the time Dean returned to the compartment. He settled down, picking up a package of what looked like jelly beans.

“Careful with them,” Seamus warned. “There’s some real nasty ones.”

Dean set the package back down, deciding it was better not to investigate.

The train ride past much more quickly than he expected. Dean and Seamus chatted the whole way, exchanging stories and theories on what Hogwarts was like. At one point, Dean found himself explaining football to Seamus, who seemed both utterly confused and unimpressed.

“What do the rest of the players do while someone’s got the ball?”

“Well they have to keep up with him. If he get’s blocked by the other team he needs to be able to kick it over to his teammate.”

“Well yeah, but… just one ball? Just a whole bunch of blokes tackling each other over _one ball?_ ”

“Why would they need another one?”

Seamus shook his head, seeming embarrassed on Dean’s behalf.

“You’ve got to read up on quidditch, mate. Now _that’s_ a sport.”

Near the end of their journey, a haughty girl with a blue “P” badge knocked on their doorway and barked at them to get changed. They would be coming up on Hogwarts in a moment.

“Blimey,” Seamus grinned at Dean as he pulled on his robes. “This is it. Hope I’ll see you in Gryffindor tower, mate.” He offered his hand once more, and they exchanged a solid handshake before the train slowed to a stop.

The boys filed out of the train, hopping down onto a platform that sat at the edge of a tiny, picturesque little town. Dean, too busy staring at the fairy tale village to watch where he was going, found himself walking into something rather large and solid. He looked up, his mouth falling open as he found himself facing a the tallest man he’d ever seen. The giant didn’t even seem to have noticed Dean bounce off him. He was holding an equally oversized oil lamp and calling out through the steam.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years this way!”

Dean found himself following the crowd of kids that trailed after the giant man. The trotted down a steep path that seemed rather gloomy in the dark of night.Excited whispers filled the air as they rounded a corner to see a bunch of dingy old boats docked at the shore. Dean wondered what was so impressive about the boats. As he looked up in confusion, he caught sight of the true cause of commotion. Off in the distance and high up on a mountain was the silhouette of an enormous castle, its windows twinkling like the stars that hung above it.

“No more’n four to a boat!” the giant called as the students stumbled excitedly into the dinghies. Dean found himself sharing one with a girl who had a snobby look to her. He scooted further toward the back of the boat.

“Everyone in?” the giant asked, taking stock of the students bobbing idly in their boats. “Right then - FORWARD!”

The boats glided across the lake, barely leaving a ripple in their wake. The girl in Dean’s boat reached out a hand to break the surface of the water.

 

“Heads down!” the giant cried, and everyone ducked as the boats slid through a curtain of ivy and up to a small dock inside the mountain. Dean climbed out, shuffling into the crowd that was filing through a passageway carved right out of the rock. Dean felt the open air before he saw it, shivering slightly as he emerged from the tunnel and found himself standing in front of an enormous wooden door. The giant man counted heads once more before raising his fist and pounding three shuddering knocks into the door.


	7. The Sorting Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is getting close to the point where I can start making Dean's own adventures and for the most part ignore whatever Harry is doing, so expect some less familiar chapters soon :D Thanks again for everyone whose commented. I really love getting your feedback! Also sorry for taking such a long time to get back into this :P

The door swung open and Dean found himself holding his breath, his mind racing with images of what could possibly be past the great wooden doors.

A few first years gasped as the doors revealed a black-haired woman in deep green robes. She wore a pointed hat that emphasized her already impressive stature and, despite knowing he was the tallest kid of the lot, Dean suddenly felt very small.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” the giant ushered a few lagging kids forward.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

Professor McGonagall led them through the entrance hall. The flagstones clicked under her heels, the sharp sound echoing up to the ceiling, which was too tall to be seen with just the light of the torches which lined the walls. The past another large wooden door with bright, warm light spilling out from underneath. The voices of what sounded like a million kids could be heard through the door. A few of the first years seemed crestfallen when the witch steered them away from the doors and into a small room to the left. They stood shoulder to shoulder so that everyone could fit in the chamber. Dean peered around at the other faces and was glad to see everyone else looked just as nervous as he felt. Professor McGonagall straightened up even more, if that was possible, and addressed the cramped room full of wide-eyed kids.

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” Dean felt a nervous shiver go up his spine. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” She gave a few students an examining look and the crowd of first years shuffled to straighten their cloaks and comb fingers through their hair.

“I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.”

As soon as her emerald green cloak disappeared out the chamber door, the huddled mass of kids broke into nervous whispers. Dean, finding himself in the middle of an excited gaggle of girls, kept his mouth shut, instead reflecting on the professor’s speech. They were about to walk out in front of the whole school. He wondered if they were sorted the way kids picked people at school for football games, with the houses picking their favorite first years in turn until nobody was left. Or maybe they would send home the remaining few once they had all been divided up.

Dean’s train of thought came to a sudden halt as the wall he had been staring absentmindedly at suddenly erupted with silvery figures that floated above the students.

The crowd gasped as the ghosts bobbed across the room, deep in conversation. A man wearing tights and a ruff came to a stop directly above Dean’s head.

“My dear Friar,” he began, addressing a rather fat ghost dressed as a monk. “Haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost - I say, what are all you doing here?”

He peered down between his feet directly at Dean. The room was silent.

“New students!” The monk smiled around at the terrified faces. About to be Sorted, I suppose? I hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” Professor McGonagall interrupted sharply from where she had reappeared in the doorway. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to start.”

The ghosts drifted past the students and through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” the professor instructed, “and follow me.”

Professor McGonagall led them out of the chamber, across the hall, and through the double doors that could only slightly muffle the noise of the other students. There were quiet gasps from many students, Dean included, as the doors to the Great Hall swung open.

It was like stepping into something from a fairy tale. The light from the Great Hall came not from torches like the other rooms they’d seen, but from thousands of flickering candles floating around the ceiling, and the  _ ceiling. _ The tall arched supports faded away towards the top of the ceiling, giving way to an inky blackness speckled with stars.

All the other students sat at four enormous tables that stretched the length of the room, glittering plates and goblets spread before them like they were waiting for a medieval feast. Dean felt his face go red as he realized every student had their eyes on the small parade of first years trailing after Professor McGonagall.

They reached the front of the hall and the professor placed a small stool in plain view of all four tables. She then procured an extremely dirty and worn looking wizards hat, putting it on top of the stool. Compared to the dazzling sights of the Great Hall, the hat looked rather underwhelming. Dean glanced around the hall and, seeing that all the older students had their eyes fixed on the hat, turned to watch it as well. A heavy silence fell over the hall for a few moments, and then the hat moved.

A rip near the brim spread open like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:

 

_ “Oh you may not think I’m pretty, _

_ But don’t judge on what you see, _

_ I’ll eat myself if you can find _

_ A smarter hat than me. _

_ You can keep your bowlers black, _

_ Your top hats sleek and tall, _

_ For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, _

_ And I can cap them all. _

_ There’s nothing hidden in your head _

_ The Sorting Hat can’t see, _

_ So try me on and I will tell you _

_ Where you ought to be. _

_ You might belong in Gryffindor, _

_ Where dwell the brave of heart, _

_ Their daring, nerve, and chivalry _

_ Set Gryffindors apart; _

_ You might belong in Hufflepuff, _

_ Where they are just and loyal, _

_ Those patient Hufflepuffs are true _

_ And unafraid to toil; _

_ Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, _

_ If you’ve a ready mind, _

_ Where those of wit and learning, _

_ Will always find their kind; _

_ Or perhaps in Slytherin _

_ You’ll make your real friends, _

_ Those cunning folk use any means _

_ To achieve their ends. _

_ So put me on! Don’t be afraid! _

_ And don’t get in a flap! _

_ You’re in safe hands (though I have none) _

_ For I’m a Thinking Cap!” _

 

Dean jumped as the hall burst into applause. The hat made a sort of bow to each of the tables, and then crumpled back down again and remained quite still.

Professor McGonagall stepped in front of the stool, now holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!”

Dean groaned as he realised this was going to be done alphabetically. He hoped there were plenty of people whose names started with Ws and Xs so that he wouldn’t have to be one of the last few.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat shouted, and Hannah, looking pink-faced and pleased, went to sit at the table on the right.

Bones, Susan became a Hufflepuff next, and then Boot, Terry was sorted into Ravenclaw with Brocklehurst, Mandy. The first Gryffindor was Brown, Lavender, and the table on the far left erupted with cheers.

The hat decided rather quickly that Bulstrode, Millicent belonged in Slytherin, but seemed to take his time with Finch-Fletchley, Justin before placing him in Hufflepuff. When the professor called up Finnigan, Seamus, the boy sat there for nearly a minute, the bit of his face that was visible from beneath the hat turning steadily redder as the seconds ticked by. Finally, the hat declared him a Gryffindor. Dean clapped eagerly for that, glad he continued his family’s tradition.

Granger, Hermione took even longer to become a Gryffindor and a terrified-looking boy who tripped on the way to the hat sat there for at least three minutes before the hat placed him in Gryffindor. The boy was so eager to sit down he ran off with the hat still on.

They were in the Ps by the time the next interesting sorting happened. Dean didn’t find it very interesting himself, but the rest of the hall was filled with whispers as the boy with glasses and messy black hair, Potter, Harry, took his seat on the stool. When the hat announced its choice of Gryffindor, the table cheered louder than anyone had so far. A couple of boys led the table in a cheer of “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

Dean became increasingly anxious as the remaining students dwindled down to four. As he was beginning to think he might be the last name called, Thomas, Dean was announced from the parchment.

His legs felt like jelly as he crossed to the stool, lifting the hat a bit cautiously before he let it slip down over his eyes.

“Let’s see,” a small, rather gravely voice spoke in Dean’s ear. “Loyal, kind, the makings of a good Hufflepuff. Perhaps… ah! But nothing to beat the courage in  _ your _ heart. There’s only one place for you: GRYFFINDOR!”

The last word echoed through the hall and Dean stood shakily, placing the hat back on the stool before walking to the table on the far left. He spotted Seamus, cheering enthusiastically and motioning for him to take the empty space beside him.

They watched as Turpin, Lisa became a Ravenclaw. Weasley, Ronald became the last to join the Gryffindor table, nearly being mobbed by a few redhead boys, and then Zabini, Blaise took his place at Slytherin.

“Think we’ll eat now? I’m starving,” Seamus asked. Dean shrugged. He was about to answer when the hall fell silent once more. He looked up to see a man at the center of the staff table had stood, stretching his arms open in welcome. “That’s Dumbledore, innit?” Seamus whispered. Dean gave him a curious look. “The headmaster,” he explained.

“Welcome!” Dumbledore’s voice was hardly above speaking volume, but the hall was silent enough for it to reach everyone. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

The students clapped and cheered. Dean was relieved to see some Gryffindors laughing like they had no more of a clue what it meant than he did.

He turned back to Seamus who was gaping at the table, now piled high with food. The older students began filling their plates without hesitation. Dean scooped potatoes onto his plate as Seamus took an impressive bite out of a pork chop. As he picked up his fork, Dean became aware of a ghost, the one with a ruff from earlier, floating by his shoulder and watching them a bit sadly.

“That does look good,” he said as he watched the boy with glasses, Potter, dig into his steak.

“Can’t you -?”

“I haven’t eaten for nearly four hundred years,” he replied. “I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know you you are!” cried a redheaded boy next to Potter. “My brothers told me about you - you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”

The ghost raised his nose haughtily.

“I would  _ prefer _ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-”

Seamus interrupted in before the ghost could finish.

“ _ Nearly  _ Headless? How can you be  _ nearly  _ headless?”

The ghost looked rather indignant and slightly disappointed.

“Like  _ this, _ ” he said, pulling on his left ear. His whole head swung onto his shoulder, only attached to his neck by a small bit of sinew. Seamus made a gagging noise and the redheaded boy pulled a face. The ghost seemed rather pleased with their response as he repositioned his head. “So - new Gryffindors! I hope you’re going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron’s becoming almost unbearable - he’s the Slytherin ghost.”

Seamus, who had recovered from the shock of Nick’s headlessness followed his eyes to the Slytherin table, where a gaunt, rather formidable looking ghost was floating, his robes covered in silver blood.

“How did he get covered in blood?” he asked, a little too enthusiastically. Nearly Headless Nick put on an air of delicacy.

“I’ve never asked.”

 

When everyone had thoroughly stuffed themselves, the food vanished from the plates. It was soon replaced with all kinds of desserts, from frozen blocks of ice cream to pies still hot from the oven. Seamus grabbed a jam doughnut from a pile as he joined the conversation about family that had come up. Dean focused on his apple pie, feeling as though he had little to contribute. He stayed rather quiet for the remainder of the feast, preferring to listen to the others talk. A fellow first year, a girl named Hermione, was rambling on about the classes she most looked forward to, and the boy with glasses, Harry, was questioning an older student about the teachers. At last, the pie crusts and candy wrappers disappeared and Professor Dumbledore stood once more.

“Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

A few students laughed nervously, but most of the hall remained in somber silence.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!”

Dumbledore raised his wand into the air with a flick, sending golden ribbon spiralling out of it and into the air, where it twisted itself into words.

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” he said, “and off we go!”

Seamus bellowed enthusiastically, seemingly with no tune in mind. Dean opted for something more cheery. Nearly every student was singing their own tune:

 

_ “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, _

_ Teach us something please, _

_ Whether we be old and bald, _

_ Or young with scabby knees, _

_ Our heads could do with filling _

_ With some interesting stuff, _

_ For now they’re bare and full of air, _

_ Dead flies and bits of fluff, _

_ So teach us things worth knowing, _

_ Bring back what we’ve forgot, _

_ Just do your best, we’ll do the rest, _

_ And learn until our brains all rot.” _

 

Seamus finished rather quickly and spent the rest of the song thumping his hands on the table to rhythm that somehow didn’t match a single tune that was being sung. Dean laughed as two redheaded twins at the Gryffindor table were the last to finish, having opted for a slow funeral march. When they finally finished, Dumbledore clapped the loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said as he wiped away imaginary tears. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The Gryffindors followed yet another redhead, who introduced himself as Percy, through the castle to their dormitories. Dean nearly fell behind as he stopped to gape at a moving painting and the staircase he was on began to move. They traveled through hidden passageways and up too many staircases to count. Finally, they rounded a corner to a corridor and stopped.

Percy eyes a floating pile of walking sticks. As he took a cautious step forward, a few walking sticks launched themselves at him.

“Peeves,” he whispered, as though that cleared everything up. “A poltergeist.” He straightened, puffed out his chest, and raised his voice. “Peeves - show yourself.”

There was a rather loud sound like a balloon being deflated.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”

They heard a small pop and suddenly a little man appeared, floating in midair. He was clutching the walking sticks, his rather wide mouth twisted into a wicked grin.

“Oooooooh!” He cackled. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!” He made a sudden dive at their heads, and everyone ducked.

“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!”

Peeves stuck out his tongue and disappeared, his pile of walking sticks tumbling down onto a boy’s head.

“You want to watch out for Peeves,” Percy told them as they continued down the corridor. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, he won’t even listen to us prefects. Here we are.”

Dean accidentally stumbled into Seamus as they stopped suddenly in front of a large portrait of a fat woman in a pink dress.

“Password?” she asked.

“Caput Draconis,” Percy replied. The portrait swung open, revealing a hole in the wall. Percy stepped aside, ushering them through it. Dean helped Seamus up behind him and they entered the common room.

It was wonderfully cozy, full of squashy armchairs and with a fire blazing away in the hearth. Percy sent the boys and girls off in separate directions. Dean followed the other four boys up a spiraling staircase and into a room with five four-poster beds, draped with velvet curtains. Their trunks were already at the foot of their beds. They were too full and tired to stay up chatting. Dean was asleep almost before his head hit his pillow.


End file.
